The Man And The Tree
O thee, O thee! How without thee, would the day fare?
What would save me from the hearth of the Universe?
With your ne'er-withdrawn arms, each day, thou show me care,
Decend a bow'r for me; the noontide to pass.
See hoe pretty thou art now, e'en as thou waggles,
And wave the sky as though the happiest one living.
But by Morn, thou sheds tears, like one that struggles,
On the lap of Earth waiting for my tidying.
A blessing and a curse thou art to me.